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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27935857">Winter Solstice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymVirtue/pseuds/PseudonymVirtue'>PseudonymVirtue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XII</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Banter, Christmas, Family Feels, Heavy Drinking, Holidays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:01:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27935857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymVirtue/pseuds/PseudonymVirtue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the darkest night of the year, an orphan girl sets the stage: A princess mingles with the common folk of enemy territory, a Judge Magister laments the condition of his greaves, and mulled wine is poured into the cups of reluctant estranged brothers who sit face to face.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Winter Solstice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/U for some divergences from the canon story for the purpose of building this scene. I won't spell those out since I think they'll be obvious enough when you read them. This is just a story I did for fun, more for the dialogue than anything so take that for what it's worth. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Twin sets of identical footprints trailed behind them in the snow. Penelo still felt awkward in snowshoes even though they had worn them the better part of the week while trudging through the mountainous terrain that surrounded the Tchita Uplands. The soles of her boots were bound in a wire net, dispersing their weight so that they wouldn't sink into the snow that was still falling in fresh gentle flakes all about them.</p><p>She'd never fathomed such inventions and adaptations to be necessary before leaving the lands surrounding Rabanastre. What began as her kidnapping ended up being a whirlwind of events that ultimately landed her in the company of an exiled princess, her disgraced knight, and sky pirates!</p><p>Vaan paused from where he'd been walking as awkwardly as she felt that she was, turning his hooded expression toward the commotion of chocobos and soldiers moving in down the street.</p><p>“Imperials.” He murmured.</p><p>Penelo strode to the side of him, lightly tugging on his arm from under his furs.</p><p>“We<em> are</em> in Archadian territory.” She reminded him.</p><p>“There's judges.” Vaan noted further, nodding in the direction of the troops.</p><p>Penelo shrugged, urging him further along the snow covered cobblestone path toward the inn. “Let's just get back.”</p><p>“You don't think they'll be headed for the inn, do you?” Vaan questioned her nervously. They'd set out from the inn earlier in the evening to make contact with the tipster regarding a rather troublesome hunt in the Uplands, a blacksmith who apparently closed up early during the peak of winter as his customers dwindled on longer winter nights.</p><p>They tracked him to his cottage nearby, and he greeted them with refreshing enthusiasm as he delivered the bad news: The mountain pass they were required to use would be impassable for days.</p><p>Penelo dreaded giving Ashe the news, silently hoping Vaan would blurt it out first thing; Ashe grinded her teeth when they were stuck somewhere for too long.</p><p>They trudged up the path to the inn, the last hint of sunlight bursting in a narrow pinpoint of light through snow encased evergreen trees. Her toes and fingertips were numb, and the dissipating light was a reminder of the long night ahead.</p><p>They stopped before the door, breath visible by their exhales as they loosed the leather straps that bound their boots to the snow shoes and leaned the appendages against the wall outside the door of the inn, besides those of their companions.</p><p>Penelo twisted the door handle, desperate for warmth. It twisted under her pressure and the frozen metal hinges groaned as she pushed it open, and the dry heat and light of a fire washed over them both.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em>“Be noble like the sun!”</em> A villager-turned-actor declared dressed in nothing but small black britches and a robe.</p><p>Laughter.</p><p><em>'Absolute debauchery,</em>' Ashe thought to herself, leaning on the balcony over the scene below. She watched the door to the outside beneath her open and Penelo and Vaan emerged, whispering to each other as they took in the lively display around them.</p><p>Dalmasca had it's own order of astrologists; men who devoted their lives to the study of the stars and their meaning in the sky. Winter solstice had a sacred meaning in Dalmasca, but apparently in Archadia it was meant as an excuse to over consume drink and act like fools. Villagers poured in from the cold, filling the main room below at the bar and the platform beside it, displaying silly acts of drama.</p><p>Balthier emerged beside her, a gold earring catching the heat of a small fir tree being shoved into the great stone fireplace by a small boy across from the bar. A roar of flames erupted noisily, drowned out only by cheers from the crowd and for a moment, Ashe had half a mind to scream as for a moment the boy seemed to be nearly swallowed by the pyre until adults dragged him back.</p><p>“Your kin often look down upon Dalmasca for our 'primitive' traditions,” Ashe told the pirate haughtily, “But I've never been to a hall so savage in Rabanastre.”</p><p>Balthier snorted, leaning his elbows on the bannister beside her. “My kin are the upper echelons of Archadian society-- where we conduct all sacred silliness in private and deflect the shame by casting shame on others. These are mountain folk. Bumpkins.”</p><p>Ashe's mouth curled in amusement at his rebuke. “You participate in some deflection of your own, I see.”</p><p>Balthier scowled at her from the corner of his eye. “How would you like for me to compare the Dalmascan royals to the nomads of the plains? They reside in your territory, after all.”</p><p>“I wouldn't mind a nomad life, however their cockatrices to be far too adventuresome than they're worth, and not good to eat. I'll pass.”</p><p>“Your royal highness,” Balthier goaded her, “I believe that's the first joke you've cracked in your entire life.”</p><p>Ashe blinked. “I... was completely serious.”</p><p>Penelo and Vaan entered, appearing immensely relieved by the warmth as they peeled off their layers and hung them on hooks that adorned the wall by the door, both stunned by the large crowd that had gathered in their absence.</p><p>Vaan spotted Ashe and Balthier on the level above and waved up at them.</p><p>“Should we go and tell Ashe?” Penelo bit her lip.</p><p>Vaan's eyes strayed to the bar. “Nah, let's get a drink first.”</p><p>“<em>Vaan.</em> Are you serious?”</p><p>But he'd already taken off without her, and in a crowd of jolly strangers she felt she had no choice but to follow behind him. She rubbed her palms together to regain prickles of sensation after removing her wet gloves.</p><p>Vaan made his way to the smaller hearth beside a much larger one where a fir tree was set aflame. A black cast iron pot was set over glowing embers in the hearth, and he watched as villagers grabbed at a ladle that was propped by the embers beside it to spoon out a steaming red liquid that brimmed with oddly shaped spices that Vaan had never seen before.</p><p>He followed suit with a dark clay mug from a stack and wordlessly passed it to Penelo before she could protest before pouring his own. A drunken 'actor' stumbled down from the platform, attempting to pull Penelo back up on it with him but she shook him off, instead continuing to follow Vaan as closely as she could.</p><p>“Is it bad?” Penelo spoke to him quietly, after they found a seat together at a small table in the hall and Vaan had sipped, his face contorting into something funny-looking immediately after he had a sip.</p><p>A familiar gruff voice spoke up beside her before Vaan could respond. “'Tis mulled wine.”</p><p>“Basch!” Vaan exclaimed, “I didn't see you.”</p><p>Penelo nudged Vaan in a sharp jab of a reminder not to say the fugitive's name so loud in such an open setting.</p><p>“Never had hot wine before. It's kinda weird, but not that bad.” Vaan swirled his mug, looking down at the spices.</p><p>“Do they have it in Landis?” Penelo turned to Basch, bringing the brim to her lips to taste the pleasant rich sweetness over the spices, humming to herself as the hot cup further restored the circulation in her fingers that held it.</p><p>“Aye, they do nearly everywhere, I'd imagine. Except for Dalmasca. We used to drink it this time of year, right before the solstice.”</p><p>That moment the front doors opened again, and four Judge Magisters entered the room. Their entrance momentarily hushed the crowd's volume before it bubbled back up within seconds.</p><p>Snowflakes scattered among their footsteps as they walked. Gabranth being the first to remove his helmet, observing irritably aloud about how muddy the trek was amidst the elements on the mountain passes, then from the chocobo stables to the inn.</p><p>Basch's blood immediately ran cold, and his head snapped downward in an instinctive urge to conceal himself. Penelo said nothing, knowing that any hushed remark might give way to the knowledge of his presence, so she instead sipped her mulled wine in silence. Vaan's eyes darted beside her, unable to suppress a glare for the newly arrived guests to this strange banquet.</p><p>The others followed suit behind Gabranth, Drace's platinum curls drifted from their matted potion about her neck from the ride, and Zargabaath, collecting their discarded armaments to pass to a lesser judge who trailed behind them, who nodded in an informal salute as he went about to make arrangements for their lodgings.</p><p>“-Had it up to <em>here</em> with the bloody senate, and Lord Vayne alike.” Zargabaath spat as he removed his, revealing the most aged complexion in the group, and as the most senior member of the Magister's following Ghis's demise it was rightfully so.</p><p>He was obviously in the middle of a tirade when they entered. Tirades weren't wise within the confines of the capital, but out here they would go without consequence.</p><p>“Please.” Drace looked annoyed, “You needn't remind me.” Snow clung to her footsteps as she detached herself from her fellows as if she herself were not warm enough to melt it.</p><p>“Remind me why we bothered?” Gabranth wrinkled his nose, stomping snow from his boots. He'd acclimated too closely to Archadian life for his liking, and the distant winters of Landis where but an echo in his memory. Snow was only a mirror of his childhood, and in this evening her abhorred it. “In the snow and in the dark--”</p><p>Zecht, out of all of them looked the least displeased about their arrival there, cradling a brown paper package in the crook of his arm. “Remember the 659 I brought along from the family cellars.” He gestured fondly to the bottle shaped bundle he carried. “It isn't a total loss.”</p><p>“-- And I may never recover the mud from my greaves.” Gabranth lamented again, unphased at first, but as he finished his diatribe his eyes brightened visibly as he looked to Zecht in acknowledgment “'Fifty-nine, you say?”</p><p>Zecht chuckled and unwrapped the treasured contents, a bottle product of a vintage year in Archadian vineyards. “Your glass is a given, Gabranth. Don't fret. Drace? Zargabaath? What say you?”</p><p>“No thank you,” Zargabaath sank into a chair with a sigh, “When my bones feel capable of standing again I shall find a glass of tea.”</p><p>“And none for me, thanks.” Drace shrugged out of her cloak and draped it over the back of a chair, raising her brow slightly at the tavern guests who were obviously Rabanastrian, hovering over their drinks in silence. She had no quarrel with them in this region, however, and they were clearly more bothered by her presence than that of she and her companions, so she quickly dismissed their presence. They were hardly older than children, anyhow. “Ah, thank the gods for a decent bar in these parts.” She walked to it, ignoring the countrymen-turned-celebrants who broke into song to her left as she walked.</p><p>As she strode to the bar Fran noticed Gabranth's lingering eyes on the back of her neck, there was the faintest flutter of-- whatever it was that humes did.</p><p>The designated troupe was only halfway coherent through the first act, and Ashe wrinkled her nose from above when she witnessed the new inhabitants enter the room.</p><p>“I should retire to the room.” She said quickly, and turned from the bannister to withdraw herself until Balthier touched her arm lightly, hazel eyes looking into her daringly.</p><p>“That's precisely what a fallen princess would do, in all the eyes that are set upon her now.” Balthier cautioned. Ashe understood his meaning and remained still, unsure of what the most prudent course of action should be.</p><p>“Besides, they don't know your face.” Balthier leaned back, looking apparently pensive despite his light words. He nodded his chin toward the crowd below. “There's another face down there that they<em> will</em> know, however, and it'd be in our of our best interest that your captain doesn't get recaptured.”</p><p>Ashe froze, recognizing Basch's twin brother in the flesh; Her father's murderer. Her fists clenched, then loosened. There was a day of reckoning she wished upon Gabranth, However, it couldn't be here. Not now.</p><p>“Don't fret, girl.” He took her hand and led her down the spiral staircase. Her legs were reluctant and stiff, and she resisted him at every pull. “Even Judge Magisters want a load off, particularly if they've been drinking. We ought to do our part to ensure that happens, no?” He paused before adding, “For the Captain.”</p><p>“I-I shouldn't...” Ashe still pulled him back slightly, still reluctant. She froze when Drace's icy gaze set upon her, obviously curious as to why a woman was being half-dragged anywhere.</p><p>“Which is precisely why you should. Your best cover, if we want to get close to Basch and blend in, is to do precisely everything a princess shouldn't.”</p><p>Penelo's fingertips grazed over Vaan's knuckles, cool and soothing. “Don't.” She pleaded against his unspoken sudden anger, “Not here.”</p><p>“If not here, then where.” Vaan grumbled.</p><p>The door burst open again, and welcome face entered the hall, dark hair and pale complexion partly obscured by a hood until he pushed it back, his cheeks reddened from the elements despite the two escorts who arrived at either side of him. One of which hastily closed the door to ward off the chill until it opened again almost immediately with two villagers hoisting yet another fur tree into the hall, shaking the snow unintentionally on Larsa before taking it off to the fireplace.</p><p>Ashe watched in curiosity as the men about the fireplace cheered and joined in song, emphasizing an accent long forgotten in Archadian gentry. The crowd parted to accommodate the triumphant parade of sorts. Larsa paid them no mind, brushing the snow from his coat.</p><p>“Little Lord!” Zecht exclaimed, and Larsa furrowed his brow at the nickname, clearly disapproving. He took his frustration out on the stomping of his feet instead. The dark skinned judge cheerfully rose from a table where he poured a glass of wine with Gabranth to clap the youngest Solidor on the back of his shoulder.</p><p>“Have a glass!” he offered, “It's a '59!”</p><p>Drace's head snapped to Zecht as Larsa wearily stepped away from Zecht.</p><p>“Zecht, he's only a boy!”</p><p>Zecht shrugged. “I was his age when I started, more or less.”</p><p>“We feared we lost you, young lord.” Zargabaath sat with Gabranth and Zecht, mug of tea in hand. “Did you walk all the way from Archades?” His voice was teasing.</p><p>“I walked <em>some</em> of the way.” Larsa clasped his hands together for warmth.</p><p>Drace leaned back from her barstool, nodding Zargabaath's way. “-Unlike other people.”</p><p>“You've no room to talk!” Zargabaath's voice bubbled with mirthful mock outrage.</p><p>“A soda for the young lord, then.” The innkeeper behind the bar said decisively, pulling one off the shelf and as he did so Larsa's gaze moved to Fran.</p><p>“Drace,” Larsa moved to sit by her and the only female Magister lowered her ale to the counter, giving him her undivided attention. Fran's ears twitched as she listened in keenly, mahogany eyes moving toward Basch seated somewhere in the room behind her. “We are on Archadian soil, but this part of the country has had a mind too declare their independence.”</p><p>The merrymakers about the fire finished their song with a wave of cheers and a loud and boisterous toast, and this time a man held the child back, nodding to Ashe who stood nearby only for warmth and doing her best to be inconspicuous.</p><p>The men about her <em>booed</em> when she shook her head no, and her cheeks grew hot when all eyes in the room turned to her.</p><p>Balthier squeezed her hand, and his voice was purposefully loud. “Don't be bashful, darling. Be a dear and get that tree into the pyre.”</p><p>Ashe made a face, knowing full well Balthier only wanted her to seem like a commoner and not an exiled princess, but his tone and his language irked her still. She cringed and pulled the tree from the men with both her calloused hands gripped about the bristled trunk, glaring and nearly swinging it threateningly when they dared to help her.</p><p>“My wife, she is bashful at times!” She heard Balthier exclaim, and she rolled her eyes. She conjured half a mind to heave the fir straight into his chest rather than tossing it into the flames, but she deferred from the violent urge.</p><p>“What are you getting at, young lord?” Drace measured the worry in Larsa's expression, he always carried the worries of an adult at least thrice his years.</p><p>“I mean there are<em> others</em> gathered here tonight. It'd be in our best interest to not make trouble. We cannot afford any prisoners to slow us down.”</p><p>Drace cocked an eyebrow as him as he took his soda from the counter and walked to a Dalmascan girl seated at a table.</p><p>Ah. <em>Now</em> his meaning became clear to her.</p><p>“I thought you were the <em>leading man</em>.” Ashe grumbled, rubbing the sticky sap from her hands as she retreated from the party of men cheering around the evergreen being spat with flames.</p><p>Balthier shrugged, “I thought I led that show rather well.” He held up a mug he'd just ladled to her. “It gets easier to act a fool if you drink.”</p><p>The flames grew hot behind her. The crisp scent of oils from the fir needles nearly burned her nostrils.</p><p>“I think it's best you leave me.” Basch's gaze moved to his peripheral and back to Penelo.</p><p>“No way. We're not leaving you.” Vaan protested.</p><p>“Penelo, Vaan! What an unexpected surprise!” Larsa emerged from the crowd with a clouded glass bottle.</p><p>Penelo's mouth dropped. “Larsa!” Her eyes shifted over the people around them and she cocked her head to the side. “Or are you Lamont?”</p><p>“It's no matter. My men won't trouble you here either way. We're just passing through. Trouble at the border, you see. Since dissolving the senate my brother desires to keep his magisters occupied and I've tasked myself with accompanying them in his stead.” Larsa nodded to the far off table where three of judge magisters sat, “They're tired and frustrated about it all, but they won't give you plight here.”</p><p>He looked to Basch, who hid whatever thoughts he had by lifting his drink to his lips again. But the patrons in question rose as if summoned and Drace seized the opportunity, as was her way, rising from the bar and seating herself across from Basch swiftly, before anyone else could make a move.</p><p>“How'd you do it? I must know.” Drace bent her elbow upon her knee as she leaned forward, supporting her ale her opposite knee.</p><p>Basch coughed mid-sip, shutting his eyes tightly as the beverage lurched through his nasal cavity, stifling the burn a little, like the sensation of drowning if he'd known one.</p><p>And he did know it, nearly drowning with his head held under water during torture under Nalbina,which at least made him feel like it.</p><p>“I-I beg your pardon?” Basch, sniffed, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. A near distance away, Gabranth caught sight of him.</p><p>“Peace, Gabranth,” Zecht cautioned him, spotting the escaped twin and surmising the situation in an instant, “In the absence of Lord Vayne we hail to Lord Larsa, remember.”</p><p><em>“Be noble like the sun!”</em> A drunken woman on the platform called and the crowd about her chanted back.</p><p>“Ah, I hardly mean offense.” Drace apologized, though her features didn't look apologetic at all. The fire made her hair glow a warm orange hue from it's colorlessness in the dark. “I only wanted to know how you escaped, is all.”</p><p>“I had help.” Basch looked to Vaan, who nodded back, glaring at Drace the whole time. “Though I suppose in a way, I've never completely left.”</p><p>“Still a dog, always a dog.” Gabranth's voice was cold as he walked stiffly beside Drace, hand clutching his glass from Zecht tightly.</p><p>“Aye, and you're a similar breed, Noah.” Basch's voice slipped into an unfamiliar drawl more akin to Gabranth's: Landisian.</p><p>“Well, that's about enough for me.” Drace interjected, rising to excuse herself from the awkward tension. “You cannot pay me enough gil to sit a listen to this, what say you, Lord?”</p><p>Larsa bit his lip, stepping away from them as Penelo and Vaan followed behind him as he urged them gently with pleading eyes. <em>'It's all right,'</em> He whispered to Penelo, urging her to pull Vaan along, <em>'He is distraught, but he will not raise ruckus here, not while I watch.'</em></p><p>“Ah!” Zecht lamented asked her approached the bar. “My companions and I have devoured by entire vintage and now I require more!”</p><p>The viera beside him twitched. He looked up at her curiously. “Forgive me. I've never seen one of your kind in the flesh before. Archades lacks... certain diversity.” The innkeeper poured his glass and slid it to him before being ruthlessly badgered by a couple down the bar.</p><p>“Perhaps it's people have long made too suggestions alluding to the massacre of non-hume-beings.” Fran spoke plainly. It was the first time she'd spoken at all that night, and she stood out not by only her non-hume presence and imposing stature, but by the fact that she preferred to stand at the bar rather than sit the way humes did, her long limbs bent like branches to accommodate her posture over the counter.</p><p>“You are not wrong.” Zecht told her, repeating the statement to himself as he combed over the personal interactions that provided him with his own experience with racism as a bastard half-Archadian, however limited those experiences were: “You are not wrong.”</p><p>“I've no right to that name.” Gabranth replied plainly, lacking the mourning that it insinuated.</p><p>“Then live to reclaim it.” Basch replied, stubborn as he ever was.</p><p>“Be silent, coward.” Gabranth seethed, “If it weren't for Lord Larsa--”</p><p>“--You cling to the empire that enslaved our people.” Basch interrupted him accusingly. He leaned forward towards Gabranth, his shoulders instinctively square. Gabranth was still undoubtedly in better shape than he, but now there were no chains, no guards, no cages. If they were just unrestricted by the circumstance then perhaps he could beat sense into him, like he could when they were both lads. “Your loyalty to your Lord is no different than mine.”</p><p>“Nice tits.” A man spat in Ashe's ear, and she whirled around to hurl the contents that remained in her mug-- a brewed citrus fruit and sticks of cinnamon in his face, inciting excited cries from the platform and the crowd joined in, even if they didn't know what the enthusiasm originated from.</p><p>Balthier caught her mug as she nearly tossed it at the man. “<em>Oh</em>, dear.”</p><p>Gabranth's gaze fixed on the woman for a moment as if pondering that she was who he thought she was, and as he looked to Basch he noted a hint of concern, even if it was just for a second, and by that concern he knew he was correct. A hint of a smile crept upon his lips. He took a moment to stifle it.</p><p>To everyone's surprise, Penelo leapt onto the platform, liquid courage in hand to steal a rendition of the Little Match Girl with intention to steal the attention of the crowd from the belligerent Ashe. She and Vaan knew of this show only from the theatre troupes that frequented Rabanastre from time to time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“It was cold, terribly cold. Snow fell.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Vaan called to her some encouragement from the audience, turning her face red, but encouraged her performance all the same.</p><p>“In the gloomy cold the girl wandered bareheaded and barefoot, for what good would would her slippers do? They were far too big.”</p><p>“He's changed.” Drace nudged Zargabaath, who looked from his tea to the twin brothers sitting face to face.</p><p>“You'd know better than anybody.” Zargabaath replied, puzzled at the sour look she shot him.</p><p>“Zargabaath. Not you too.”</p><p>“Forgive me, I meant nothing by it,” Zargabaath corrected himself. “But you have gotten to know him better than anyone.”</p><p>Drace weighed his words in her head, unsure if she approved of their meaning or not. She was fond of Gabranth and knew him well, but perhaps that had everything to do with the fact that she was the most accepting of a young foreigner with a thick Landisian accent from the start.</p><p>“Brilliant girl.” Balthier praised Penelo from where he settled down with Ashe just out of earshot from where Basch sat with Gabranth. “I suppose Penelo should be a convincing actress for this role, as an orphan herself?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“She carried several boxes of matches in her hands. No one had bought one from her all day. Starving, she could smell the scent of roast goose from a nearby house.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn't know.” Ashe admittedly soberly, “I never read this play.”</p><p>“I'd think princesses would be better versed in literature.”</p><p>“I was well versed in literature.” Ashe shrugged, “But not sadness or loss. We're flowers; but not flowers of the garden. We're flowers in a lacquered pot inside, protected from elements where our soil and water is controlled: never too much, never too little.” She turned to him and tipped her head a little, the remaining sap on her hands making the pads of her fingers stick to the clay mug Balthier had saved from colliding with the obscene onlooker's face. She peeled them back one by one before replacing them again. “I wasn't brought up to experience sorrow. It was deemed too morbid.”</p><p>Balthier raised an eyebrow. “I don't believe that,” He told her, “Your brothers, your mother...”</p><p>“I hardly knew them. And... it wasn't as if I didn't experience some semblance of grief, but I was coddled in it. Until Rasler.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Shivering, she was a little girl in a picture of cold and hunger. She curled up on a street with her little bare feet under her. She was getting colder and colder.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“We found the tipster.” Vaan nudged Ashe from behind, and she turned in surprise in drunken stupor, cleanly having forgotten that she'd sent Vaan and Penelo out earlier that evening altogether. “The mountain pass is blocked.”</p><p>“It figures.” Balthier muttered under his breath.</p><p>Ashe sighed. “We either spend several most days here until a warm front passes or turn back.”</p><p>Vaan looked up to Penelo's prose upon the platform. “I vote we just stick it out.”</p><p>“Her hands felt dead with cold. The heat from one match could warm her! She struck it against the tinderbox, and the heat from the tiny flame brought her so much warmth.”</p><p>“Those years under Nalbina,” Basch closed his eyes for a moment. The scattered images filled his head the way they typically did at night time, manacles that tore at his wrists from their weight against thinning skin, drawing blood when in place for a long time; the crack of a whip tearing at his back, his field of vision yielding from his slumped head that hung over his knee. “Those were not enough?”</p><p>“Not enough,” Gabranth repeated and drank the last of Zecht's vintage from his glass, swirling it in his mouth as he spun the stem of the glass in his fingers thoughtfully before swallowing, “If I had my way I'd have kept you there a hundred years longer, until you drew your last miserable breath.”</p><p>“And that would earn you your name back?”</p><p>Noah's eyes shot to his: direct and dark against Basch's light blue.</p><p>“Nay. But it'd make me feel... somewhat relieved.”</p><p>“Who were you aiming to punish?” Basch cocked his head, “Me, or you?”</p><p>Gabranth ran his tongue over his teeth, his eyes glazing over Basch from head to toe appraisingly. He lifted an index finger to his cheek, glass still in hand. “I haven't the scars to speak of,” Gabranth taunted, “You tell me.”</p><p>“Aye, you've given me scars brother, but at least my conscious is clear.”</p><p>“How can it be?” Gabranth snarled, “When you abandoned your home? Our mother?” His grip on the glass tightened.</p><p>“The outcome would be the same,” Basch reasoned, “If we stood against the Imperials together we'd both be dead. Separate, we are weaker; not a threat. They've even made you a Judge, I see.”</p><p>Gabranth's eyes narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“How wonderful it felt when the fire burnt in the cold night! She stretched out her feet to warm them also. But the match fizzled out, and she was once again left in the dark, cold, night.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“We'll figure it out in the morning.” Ashe dismissed Vaan, who wandered curiously back by the great hearth to the men poking the tree.</p><p>“You think Basch will be all right?” Vaan jabbed her irritably again, his index finger assaulting her shoulder blade. “His brother might as well've killed my brother. And he framed Basch for your dad.”</p><p>Ashe heart accelerated with the recollection of old rage. A yearning for vengeance had yet to be quenched. She did not need reminding of Gabranth's crimes, yet the time she'd spent in the company of others for the years following the coup in Nalbina had taught her that there was more the life than vengeance, as much as she preferred it to be that simple.</p><p>Nethicite. The murder of her father and the destruction of Rasler and his people. It was all a part of something much much bigger. The closest she'd come to understanding it had been the catharsis of tossing a live tree to be burned into a fire, and watched it crackle and shrivel in the heat. And in what Basch had disclosed to her during their travels of his brother, Gabranth's outrage almost made sense. But no, she couldn't let that be her people.</p><p>“I wasn't entirely truthful to you before.” Balthier announced, “We do have some of these traditions in common in Archades.”</p><p>Ashe shifted beside him, unaware of how close they'd gotten in the warm banquet hall. “Is that right?”</p><p>He nodded to the fireplace. “We light a single log on this night, the winter solstice. For it is the longest period of darkness.”</p><p>“What of the tree?”</p><p>“Well, I suppose it came from a tree at some point, and that tree is missing a log.”</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“I'm not sure; you never quite realize how strange traditions are until you're asked to explain them to foreigners What of you, princess? You don't observe the solstice.”</p><p>“No,” Ashe yawned, “We only celebrate the summer solstice; we bask in the light, we don't celebrate the darkness.”</p><p>“Then how would you learn to live with it?”</p><p>“I'm not sure,” Ashe reasoned, “Dalmasca doesn't have many days of dark, as you recall.”</p><p>“But Dalmasca does indeed have darkness.”</p><p>“No,” Ashe insisted, “Because even the night sky has the most brilliant stars I've ever seen. Even brighter than the Ozmone Plains.”</p><p>“You do have some of the brightest nights, no doubt.” Balthier agreed, “But I always attributed that to the streetlamps of Rabanastre more than the light from the night sky.”</p><p>“It is constant and unchanging.” Ashe asserted, and Balthier rested his point.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“She lit another match. It burned brightly against a stone wall and for a moment, she was in a nightly colored room under a grand lighted tree. The match burned out; the warmth on her fingers was gone. The tree was gone. She knelt before a stone wall once again.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Did you ever think you would see the day?” Zargabaath nodded to the twins, and Drace sank into the chair where he sat.</p><p>“Fetch my other vintage!” Zecht commanded a Judge by the door, who saluted and hustled to the chocobo stables immediately.</p><p>Drace rolled her eyes. “Honestly, with that one. All he does is down his wine every chance that presents itself ever since Nalbina.”</p><p>“As long as his combat prowess is in order.” Zargabaath reasoned.</p><p>“I figured it'd come to a head at one point or another,” Drace redirected the discussion to his previous question. Gabranth was softening, she could tell. She did mind it; in fact, she preferred him this way. Gabranth was the exact sort of man she told herself to avoid, while he was the exact sort of man she wished to see more of. “But no blood has been shed and no brother is escorted out in chains? I consider that progress.”</p><p>“You disapprove of his methods then.”</p><p>“<em>Vayne's</em> methods.” Drace specified, though she did not dare to elaborate further.</p><p>“From which he did not protest.”</p><p>“T'isn't our place to protest. We serve House Solidor.” She leaned back in her chair, watching Larsa across the room as he sat clutching his soda with the common folk, watching Penelo take to the stage in what initially began as an attempt to free her friend from attention, and now she was a full blown phenomenon.</p><p>“Have we not a mind of our own?” Zargabaath challenged.</p><p>“I've had a mind to leave it all,” Zecht admitted earnestly, sitting with Drace and Zargabaath, satisfied that he'd received his second bottle from the lesser judge.</p><p>“Yet here you sit.” Drace commended.</p><p>“I sit because if not I, someone else will fill my place. Someone of lesser character. More easily persuaded. Plus, we have the young lord. Let us pray to the gods you've raised him right.”</p><p>Drace scoffed at him as he mockingly lifted his glass to her as if in a toast.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“The little girl lit another match, and by the light between her fingers, dozens of lights were lit upon branches in the fir trees all around her, and she reached out both her hands toward them. The match burnt out. But the lights above her drifted even higher, forming a line of fire from the sky and all around her.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gabranth cursed the young village boy who made the rounds, refilling every cup with a ladle from the warm drink by the fire.</p><p>“You look cold, ser.” The boy declared in a sing-song as he pranced off.</p><p>“A pointless celebration.” Gabranth observed aloud, as if the conversation was no longer with the estranged twin brother which he wished to kill and now with a neutral acquaintance; a stranger he'd stumbled across in the middle of a long night in the dead of winter in the midst of the travels with his lord during a time of ever encroaching war.</p><p>Still, he hated Basch's face. Even more so when it was his own, staring back in his reflection at him. Basch was right. He desired self mutilation through his identical twin, and two years of it left him unsatisfied, more hollow than he was when it all began.</p><p>Basch drank from his ale, eyes moving about the crowd. “I don't know, I appreciate the sentiment.”</p><p>“Tis only a primitive version of the Festival of Lights back in Landis.”</p><p>Basch's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I believe these traditions are older. The Festival of Lights was born from the lighting of the trees in the pyre.” And as if on command, the doors opened as the village men hauled yet another tree into the room, calling loudly over the performance for a hand to throw it into the flames.</p><p>“I didn't take you for a scholar.” Gabranth drank to cover a hint of a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“'Someone is dying!' The little girl cried, for when her grandmother lived, she was the only one who loved her, and taught her that stars fell when new souls traveled to heaven. She struck another match against the wall and her grandmother stood before her then as clear as the day.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Never had much of a taste for this holiday I'm afraid.” Balthier confessed. His eyes strayed to Fran at the bar, still stoic and unmoving in her approach to the hume nonsense that went on around her.</p><p>“Why not?” Vaan found a seat next to the sky pirate on the opposite side of Ashe, with Larsa seating himself beside him. “I think it's kinda fun.”</p><p>Balthier said nothing. In truth there were memories of lavish parties where he was either ushered to bed past midnight or hid under tables with a friend and a bottle of spirits-- those were the better ones. In the later years Dr. Cid reclused himself in his study like it were any other day, and in truth that was preferable had it not been for the outside world of Archades participating in mirth and light exchanging traditions, while he was kept shut in as it was any other winter's night.</p><p>Vaan made another comment from one side of him and it made Ashe stifle a snort, and he thought to himself that this was sadly the best company he'd ever had on what was decided to be the darkest night of the year.</p><p>“I need another drink. A <em>real</em> one.” Drace approached the bar counter where the only space made available was next to the viera.</p><p>“I've never seen a viera this close in the flesh before.” Her cold eyes looked upward towards the crown of Fran's head, as if taking in the expanse of her height.</p><p>“So your companion reminded be also.” Fran answered dryly, leaving Drace to ponder which companion she was referring to as the barkeep passed her a drink across the counter. The sharp sound of glass scraping of hardwood made her recollect her senses and she placed her guess.</p><p>“Zecht?” He was the only other one of them she'd seen approach the bar.</p><p>“If that is his name.” The viera replied simply.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She struck yet another match against the wall, this time an image of her grandmother appeared before, and the little girl cried, as her grandmother was the only person who had loved the girl. “Grandmother!” She exclaimed, “Take me with you! I know when this match burns up you will disappear!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Don't make contentment speaking with me here.” Gabranth declared at last. “The moment we depart from this place I will kill you.”</p><p>“Very well.” Basch sighed, “Then it is in my favor that this is the longest night of the year, isn't it?”</p><p>Gabranth's lip curled grimly. “You've forgotten it, haven't you.”</p><p>Basch's forehead wrinkled as he snapped his eyes to Gabranth from were he'd been looking down at his drink.</p><p>“In our mother's house, all the candles she'd light in the windows for passerby to see.”</p><p>“For passerby? How could I forget?”</p><p>Gabranth shook his head, irritated at Basch's ambivalence The year in question was one of the last prior to Basch's departure, when Archadia's ever encroaching presence at the Landisian border was but a subtle white noise in the background. The majority of houseguests their mother had taken in over the years were merely drunks who attempted travel in the dark after a few too many, and they'd sleep in the guest bedrooms, offer grateful banter with their mother over breakfast, and departed in the grey daylight of sun on snow.</p><p>One year, however, a man came in the night in the instant their mother had lit the last candle. Gabranth had tiptoed to the guestroom to see who it was after he heard the man's voice linger with his mother's in the hall, however the guest room was empty.</p><p>Odd.</p><p><em>“Wake up.”</em> Noah had attempted to shake Basch awake, who groaned and pulled his covers tighter over him in response.</p><p>At dawn he stirred again and he heard the voices leave his mother's bedroom down the hall, and the realization that his mother had a guest in her own quarters at night made his throat run dry. Through a crack in the door he saw them, his mother a slender blonde figure entangled in the embrace of a stranger by the light of candles in the hall.</p><p>Noah froze, wanting to scream and tear the the stranger from her. But fourteen years of scoldings had taught him that he wasn't in interfere in the affairs of adults.</p><p>The man left before Basch woke. And whilst their mother ate breakfast in the dining hall on her own, he crept into Basch's room to tell him the strange events during the night.</p><p><em>“Why didn't you wake me?”</em> Basch demanded, his voice sour. He then tore from his bed, leaving his covers on the floor as his footfalls were heavy enough to ruin whatever discretion Noah had so carefully kept in his own movements <em>“I tried!”</em> Noah shot back, following close behind him.</p><p>Basch burst through their mother's bedroom door. The room looked close to how it always had. The twins scanned for something amiss, oblivious to their mother pushing out her chair from the dining table below them.</p><p>The curtains about her canopy bed tied back, however upon the table before the fireplace sat two mugs: filled with wet spices remaining from cups of mulled wine the night before. And before the fireplace rested a single blade, clean and sheer metal reflecting the hint of light through green drapes adorning the windows; whoever had left it there had taken great care of it.</p><p>“The nitwit left his weapon here.” Basch declared ruefully. “Probably a drunkard who thought he could have his way with mother.”</p><p>He apparently <em>did</em> have his way with her and she with him, Noah thought to himself, but he didn't dare say it aloud. They crossed the room and Basch knelt to lift the sword by the hilt, holding it firmly the way he did with their training blades when they sparred.</p><p>He noted the name engraved upon the hilt through the gaps of his knuckles, and the familiarity of it all nearly made him drop the weapon. Noah read it at the same time.</p><p>“He wanted you boys to have it.” Their mother appeared in the doorway prepared the scold them, but that faltered the moment she found her husband's sword in Basch's grasp.</p><p>Long after Basch left and his mother deceased, Gabranth lifted the blade from it's resting place above the drawing room mantle.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“She quickly struck the entire bundle of matches that remained, in a desperate attempt to keep her grandmother with her. Together, the matches burned with such a brilliant glow that her grandmother became more lifelike than she was in the days before her death. She was grand and beautiful. And she took the little girl into her arms and the warmth embraced them both.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“You're talking about <em>him</em>.” Basch recollected accurately.</p><p>“Aye, he came and went and as far as I know, never returned. I never dared to ask mother of his whereabouts even when her condition became grave. He's dead, as far as I'm concerned.”</p><p>“Perhaps he had good reason to keep us at bay.” Basch suggested, though he was somewhat doubtful. He gave little thought to their father over the years, although he knew the speculation only made Gabranth more spiteful, and his animosity often stemmed from perception of abandonment.</p><p>“No matter, I've come to my senses.” Gabranth nodded to Basch's companions gathered behind him. They were paying him much less attention now, the Dalmascan boy offering mocking quips about the girl performing on the platform until the viera made a curt statement from behind him that caused him to make a face and drop his commentary. The Archadian sky pirate was pouring wine to the noble Dalmascan woman he knew to be the princess, and she protested vocally, yet she allowed him her mug nonetheless.</p><p>Basch turned his head over his shoulder and back to his brother, expression puzzled. “Concerning...?”</p><p>Gabranth's thumb ran over the rim of his mug thoughtfully. “I sold father's sword to purchase my first arms.”</p><p>The revelation admittedly stung-- a family heirloom sold for money that was likely thoughtlessly melted down and molded into something new, and their family name that was engraved upon the hilt melted with it.</p><p>“That is understandable.” Basch spoke carefully, “I cannot imagine the suffering those years had brought you.”</p><p>“No, you cannot. I know who these fellows are that you surround yourself with. As the lead of Archadia's investigative branch I'm privy to such knowledge.”</p><p>Basch nodded, though he was unsure of what Gabranth's point was. He was circling it, and Basch always appreciated a more direct approach.</p><p>“When I received word you'd been promoted to the rank of Captain, and as the King's closest confidant, and your victories alongside the Captain Vossler whom you were quoted to regarding as a brother in a victory speech, it was the worst you could've done to me. Your <em>true born</em> brother.” Gabranth jabbed a finger violently at himself as if for emphasis, “You've found a family to suit you, as mother and I could not. You've moved on and you've flourished as I could not.”</p><p>“I could hardly yet that with honesty-” Basch attempted to correct him, but Gabranth raged on, his voice only low enough for Basch to hear, but no less potent as he seethed.</p><p>“I think about that night when father returned during the night of the Festival of Lights, and I wonder: What could he have been thinking? What was he hoping to gain by reuniting with mother? Why did she not deny him entry to the home where her children slept, unaware of his presence? Why did she not try to strike him down as I know she was capable in her prime? Instead she welcomed him in secret, bed him, let him lay his sword in her bed quarters, and kissed her in the hall just outside my door?”</p><p>Basch shook his head, offering nothing but silence as Gabranth continued, his voice nearly sounded tearful with emotion.</p><p>“I've needed someone to blame, Basch. And after all this time and the pain I've managed to inflict upon you it's not enough. I cannot be Noah and be a <em>coward.</em>”</p><p>“Aye, Noah is no coward.” Basch replied, recollecting what he'd just been told carefully, pausing a moment before he spoke next. “You've been hurt by the speculation of if all, and by my perceived indifference.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“In the corner of the alley, the little girl lay slumped over against the wall, lifeless. She was frozen with her eyelids open and a smile upon her face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'She only wanted to warm herself' speculated the passerby.'How terrible, how tragic!'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yet they were unaware of all the beautiful things the girl had been witness to, for she had passed onto the morning after the solstice with her grandmother, and the cold night was over.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Penelo ended her performance dramatically, practically prancing to where Vaan sat and sending an obscene gesture with her finger that she hadn't done in years, and the villagers of the halls cheered and screamed with enthusiasm as she marched past them. Vaan held his hands up in surrender, laughing as he apologized and embraced her wholly.</p><p>“See the 'chaos' you've created?” Balthier said to Larsa, who looked back at him inquisitively.</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“This place,” Balthier gestured about the hall and Fran nodded agreeably, for she already knew the observation he'd be making. “Would be nowhere near what it has become if it where not for your presence. Makes one wonder what you could do with a country, hm?”</p><p>“My brother will lead the country. He will do it well.” Larsa looked down sheepishly, as if know how guilty and hollow his words must sound to Balthier's ears. He knew and appreciated Balthier's point, however; that when tensions were managed with directness and nonviolence there was always less bloodshed and therefore less grief. Whatever tensions existed in the room was by the casualties of war, and it was in everyone's best interest, Archadia and otherwise, if those were not managed on the battlefield.</p><p>“Don't tease him, Balthier.” Ashe chided warningly.</p><p>“That is my thought precisely,” Gabranth told Basch, “It wasn't within my right to pull you into it. You did what you believed you must to survive.”</p><p>“I could've done better. I <em>should've</em> done better.” Basch reassured him, bringing a hand to his brother's shoulder.</p><p>“Excuse me, ser.” A small serving girl with two glasses of wine piped in Gabranth's ear. She was dressed in rags with no shoes to wear. Basch and Gabranth eyed her strangely-- apparently she was to play the little match girl in the act on the platform before Penelo took her place. “That fellow says he's got yet 'nother 659. He paid me 20 gil to bring you these drinks.” Her voice was sweet and innocent, making it almost comical to the brothers that she was reciting a rehearsed message likely from Zecht or Drace, and was visibly elated to obtain 20 gil for such an easy task.</p><p>“No, I cannot,” Basch laughed and waved her off, but Gabranth gestured to accept a both glasses from the girl, shoving one into Basch's hand. “Drink, brother.” He pressed, before turning to the girl and dropping a small bag of coins into her hand.</p><p>“Thank you miss, and 50 gil to return to the fellow and invite him for a seat here, for we'll require more than just one glass if he's yet to reveal another bottle of vintage.”</p><p>The little girl's mouthed parted as an incredible smile spread across her face and she bit her bottom lip as she nodded, animated and excited as Gabranth nodded to her and she bounced off to the table toward the other judge magisters.</p><p>“Basch, help me out of this!” Vaan stumbled to the table beside the two brothers and slapped it, momentarily cursing himself for letting Basch's name slip yet again. But then, he reasoned, Gabranth ought to know who he was talking to by now. “They're attempting to cast me and... Amalia in the play!”</p><p>“Are you referring to me?” Ashe chimed in from where she'd escaped yet another crowd before the fireplace.</p><p>“Help me talk them out of this!” Vaan pleaded, and before Basch could reply Ashe pressed the young Dalmascan orphan further:</p><p>“What is my role?”</p><p>“<em>That's</em> your question?” Vaan slurred at her, snorting through his nose from laughter. “You're Juliet! Who do you think that makes me?”</p><p>Ashe's mouth pressed to a firm line.</p><p>“My, my.” Balthier teased. “By the look on your face they do teach some literature in Rabanastre, don't they?”</p><p>“Wine for the happy couple?” Zecht approached with his vintage, frowning at Vaan's laughter faltering at the sight of Ashe glowering. “You look cold, boy.” He added.</p><p>“That looks like a '59...” Balthier murmured to himself at the bottle in Zecht's hand, recognizing it from one of the many in his father's cellars.</p><p>The little girl rushed to them to pour the bottle in the glasses, eager to earn what more she could from the wealthy drunken strangers.</p><p>“I will not be partaking, lest I be dragged upon the stage next with this one.” Ashe gestured to Vaan.</p><p>“Here, here!” Penelo emerged beside Vaan to swipe his mug.</p><p>“That's mine.” Vaan growled, pulling it back from her.</p><p>“Here, here!”</p><p>“I'm retiring for the night.” She nodded, eyes trailing as Zecht passed a glass to Fran.</p><p>“Here, here!”</p><p>“Good<em>night!</em>” Ashe stressed the last syllable for emphasis, eyes moving to Balthier, who lazily raised his glass to her in return.</p><p>Her journey had taught her to act with humility, and she relinquished herself after just enough of it. The snow piled upon a frozen window flower bed through the glass outside as she passed it, ascending the staircase to where the inn's guest quarters were. She passed Imperial guards and lowborn villagers, offering a polite smile as she made her way upstairs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Again, this was just for fun, and isn't meant to be an in depth character study or anything-- lord knows I have plenty of that elsewhere. I specifically chose this part in the plotline because the little that we do see these characters warm up to each other starts around here (By the time they make it to Archades Basch is even cracking jokes... sort of.)</p><p>As much as I did want to keep this a "shallow" story, I did put some kind of thought into the Gabranth/Basch conversation as in a way, it was the centerpiece to the whole thing. I think he'd have been quite a bit more rational and not quite so unhinged by the ending if Drace lived and Larsa nearby. Besides the whole, you know, chaining his bro up in the dungeon thing (still can't wrap my head around that).</p><p>The Little Match Girl was a simply paraphrased version of the english translation real work by Hans Christian Andersen.</p><p>I have not abandoned on my "big fic" T.G.O. Saint Ajora and next chapter will hopefully be done in a week or so!</p><p>Happy Holidays!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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